


Queen

by Unwinded



Category: Dragonriders of Pern - Anne McCaffrey
Genre: Adolescent Sexuality, Biphobia, Gay Bashing, Hatching, Homophobia, M/M, Male Bisexual Rider, Male Homosexual Rider, Male Homosexuality
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-21
Updated: 2011-12-21
Packaged: 2017-10-27 17:14:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/298152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Unwinded/pseuds/Unwinded
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A bronze rider's dragon has a special candidate in mind for the next Hatching.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Queen

**Author's Note:**

  * For [xylaria](https://archiveofourown.org/users/xylaria/gifts).



> Written as a pinchhit for Yuletide 2011  
> Dedicated to Anne Inez MacCaffrey (1927 - 2011).

As beatings go it was a bad one. Nothing had crunched yet, but that was just a matter of time, Soryn knew. The hobnailed boots descending on his thighs, ribs and buttocks would do their work again, just like before.

He had curled up in a ball, shielding his head with arms and hands, face tucked against his shoulder and knees pulled up tight. If only he had a fire lizard to defend him. No one bullied Melina anymore. Not since she impressed those two greens. But try as he might, he had found no clutches along the river border, and even if he had, no lowly crafter's son would ever be allowed to keep a lizard.

***

 _What does_ bugger _mean?_

P'ren huddled deeper into his wherhide jacket, trying to keep out the bite of wet icy cold which came with Tagranth's lazy banking high above Bitra hold. He should have heeded Manora and used a shawl, inspite of the ribbing he would have got. He liked Searching, but winter in Bitra wasn't his preferred season, for anything.

"What do you mean? Where'd you hear that?" he mumbled under his breath. That Tagranth had no compunction listening in on a large variety of people had put him in the spot before. It didn't do well for a bronze rider barely old enough to be allowed riding falls with a working wing to know about the secrets of lord holders or weyrleaders. So even if F'nor winded him up now and then over his tendency to second-guess his dragon, P'ren thought it was a wise enough idea to do so. And they were circling the main hold just now, Searching. Who knew whom Tagranth was listening to to find those special candidates he went on about?

Bugger _as in someone's father buggering a herdbeast. I know they can be eaten. They taste very nice. So what is_ buggering _them?_

There was no use trying to keep it from his dragon. P'ren sighed and gave Tagranth the mental picture. The young dragon whipped his head around, eyeing his rider with concern.

 _Do you mind when someone says that to you?_

P'ren laughed out loud. "No one says that to me anymore, mate," he answered, amused inspite of the topic. "Not since I impressed you."

 _But they did? And you didn't like it? It's not nice, right?_ There was a considerable amount of affection transported along with those words, warming P'ren's heart.

Tagranth had made such a difference. To have someone whom he did not have to hide from, someone who loved him unconditionally, regardless of what gender he might prefer between his furs. That had changed absolutely everything. Not just that no one dared anger a fire breathing creature with a mouth filled with razor-sharp teeth.

"No, I didn't like it. It's not nice at all. So where did you hear it said? And who said it about whom?"

Weyrfolk weren't that tolerant either. Not when it came to bronze riders who were expected to prefer the women they might have to mate and perform with. P'ren wouldn't put it past some of the oldtimers now living at Benden Weyr to talk behind his back. He didn't even have any male lovers these days, not for several turns, but he had not always been so discreet. Or so celibate.

The Weyr had seemed to be heaven compared to life at the hold when he had first come there, chosen for Ramoth's first clutch. There had been riders enough who were keen on young flesh, especially lads straight from holds and crafts. New faces, new experiences. Things had changed radically after he had impressed the bronze and had F'nor and Manora not taken such a liking to him and helped him adapt to what was expected of him, he would have made many enemies. It had astounded him that even the openly men-loving green and blue riders had scorned his advances all of a sudden.

 _They just said it to the lad they are beating and kicking down there. The one I'd suggest to take along._

"You big bloody oaf!" he scolded and gave the order to descend, and descend fast.

***

Soryn felt the arrival of the dragon rather than he heard it, because right then they were using their herder whips wherever they could bring them down, mostly across his arms and shoulders. One moment he was being beaten to within an inch of his life, the next there was a  blast of biting cold, a deep rumbling roar that reverberated through his very bones and a mighty gust of wind. Then the older lads were screaming and yelling and he could hear them run down to the hold, the nails under their boots making a racket all of their own.  Maybe if he stayed very quiet whoever had come would leave again.

"Is he unconscious?" The voice was male and originated from far above him. Something huge and leathery nudged him, then blew spicy hot air smelling faintly of blackrock across his aching legs, almost warming the mud and slush caked onto them.

"I can see that for myself! Let me down. Are you sure it's him you want?" A contented rumble and another warm breath, then someone touched him, trying to untangle him. "Lad, they're gone and I doubt they'll be back, with Tagranth angry. Come, let me see your face, my dragon says you're conscious alright."

Soryn uncurled. Slowly enough so it would not hurt too much. He might be a runt and an abomination, but there was no way he would start crying in front of a Benden dragonrider. Gentle gloved hands held onto him, helped him turn around and sit. He looked up, not too far, because that would have been staring at the dragon, no, only enough so he could see who was talking to him.

A smiling face, ruddy with the cold, and gray inquisitive eyes, on a muscular, broad shouldered man hunkered down at his side. Not as frightening as he had feared, the rider couldn't have been more than five turns older than him. Yet he was everything Soryn was not: self-assured, handsome and graceful. He blinked as the rider straightened and extended his hand.

"I'm P'ren," he said and turned and nodded at the bronze mountain in his back. "And this is Tagranth. He says he Searched you. So, is there anything you want to get before we leave?"

***

Mirrim was already waiting at the entrance to his cave when Tagranth delicately turned on his wingtip to settle on the ledge, light as a feather in spite of his size. This meant that his dragon had bespoken Manora. Not that P'ren minded; the boy had silently keeled over when he had grasped what he had said, and Tagranth had not been so sure about his well-being anymore. So he had bundled him in several layers of furs and flown him straight back instead of _between_.

He carried him to his bedroom, a task made ridiculously easy by the boy's gaunt state. When he opened the furs to let the young woman have a look, she stared long and hard.

"What do they do to their lads at Bitra?" Mirrim's tone was acerbic. "How did he get those wounds? Good thing you didn't fly _between_ or they'd fester."

"Tagranth says the other lads beat him up," P'ren answered, not about to add that he had a good idea why, given what his dragon had asked, and immediately sent a mental reminder that such things were private matters.

 _I know that. I wouldn't have told on him. I like him. He will be fine._

"Let's undress and bathe him; under all that filth I can't even see how serious his wounds are." A deep rumble from the dragon's weyr raised Mirrim's eyebrows. "Is he disagreeing with me?"

"No," P'ren shook his head. "He says he'll be fine."

They both gasped on seeing the youth naked. He was so meagre they could count every rib and in places bones and joints protruded painfully. P'ren cradled Soryn against his chest as he moved him to the shallow pool and gingerly lowered the battered body into the warm water, then helped Mirrim wash off mud and congealed blood.

"What's his name? I have to tell Manora something. And she'll want to know for sure, especially before she talks to Lessa about this."

 _Soryn._

"Why, thank you Tagranth. I take it P'ren didn't stop to ask for a name before he threw him across your back, eh?" Mirrim asked, a lopsided smile on her face.

 _He lost consciousness before that._

P'ren chuckled at the dry tone, trust Tagranth to make it good again. The young Bitran cleaned up beautiful. Fair skin in line with the soft blond hair which was almost white, broad enough shoulders which would be impressive once the lad had had something to eat and grown a bit into himself, narrow hips, a straight nose and delicate, chiselled lips, which, he had to acknowledge at least to himself, looked deliciously made for kissing. High cheekbones, a wide forehead and a strong, cleft chin completed looks which soon would make quite a few riders very interested.

They dried him and once Mirrim had slathered a liberal amount of numbweed on his injuries and bandaged them, they put him to bed, piling the furs high. For all her irritable mannerisms she was very competent with patients.

"I'll send up some wherry broth and meat," she said with a sigh. "He's starved, and I mean that exactly as I say it. He needs lots of good food, and a warm place to rest. His wounds aren't that bad, but there doesn't seem one bone left unbroken at some time."

"But nothing's broken now?" P'ren asked, relieved when Mirrim shook her head. "So will he be ready for the Hatching?"

"I've no idea," she answered. "Have you been to the hatching ground lately? The sands are hot. Could be any day. Why the haste? He looks young enough for the next clutch."

P'ren shrugged. He wasn't going to tell her his dragon insisted on this one.

"Well, request as much food as you want," she said. "I'll give the cook order to deliver to you, regardless of when and how much. I'll leave the numbweed here. Apply as needed."

 _He will be alright. And he will stand on the grounds when they hatch._

***

Soryn woke, not sure where he was. He felt warm, and there was no pain, none at all. There was breathing though, and the glow of a fire. Someone moved close behind him, and he bit down on his lips to keep himself from crying out loud. He turned and it was the rider who had said he had been Searched.

He knew what that meant, at least he thought so. He had closely listened to the new harper, from down the hall and near the yapping spit dogs, but he was sure that to be Searched meant he would be presented as a candidate at an Impression. Not that he would ever have aspired to such a huge and magnificent dragon as the bronze he had seen. But the journeyman harper had sung songs about other colours too. Browns, blues and greens. He had seen one of the dainty, elegant greens once, from afar, at a gather. He sighed. He could dream of a green, couldn't he?

But then the ballads also told of candidates killed, or rejected by the hatchlings. Maybe that was why the bronze rider had brought him to Benden Weyr. So that the dragonets had a choice. That also made a lot of sense. And he didn't mind that. Not if it meant that he could be clean, and warm and without pain. He did not suppose there would be people beating him at the Weyr, not like what he had so grown used to.

Soryn didn't believe in those old tales about holders and crafters fed to dragonets in the stead of herdbeasts. There was a glow from the cavern he could see beyond the sleeping room. He lifted his head and watched the revolving opalescent lights until he realised he was looking straight into the bronze dragon's eyes.

But the beast did not appear angry, the colours were quite soothing; as soothing as the musky male scent he breathed in, a scent which was clean and individual. He lowered his head again, shy all of a sudden, because contrary to what everyone had said at the hold he had never bedded someone before. Had never been even as close to another as he was here and now. Maybe that was why the rider had brought him? As a companion, a mate? No, that hadn't been the impression he had got from what the dragon had sent him.

Yet P'ren seemed to have no compunction at sleeping in the same bed with another male. He regarded the man in the faint light, awestruck with how elegant and refined he looked. The faintest gleam of a stubble on his cheeks and throat, a dusting of dark, curly hair on his chest leading down to a trail which vanished beneath the covers they were sleeping under. Healthy, tan skin he knew to be velvet soft from the short moment of touching it when he had turned around.

Suddenly he longed to lay his head onto that chest, to breathe in that wholesome smell which permeated the furs, to listen to the man's heartbeat and sense his warmth. But these feelings were what had got him into trouble back at the hold. Better not make the same mistake. With a sigh he turned around.

So he was quite unprepared when a strong, muscular arm gathered him close until he rested comfortably against the other and felt P'ren cuddle up, a contented murmur making it barely to his ears.

***

 _Wake up! They're hatching!_

The call was strident, not to be ignored, waking him up as efficiently as the whatchwher's bugle. There was a low, steady humming throughout Benden Weyr, announcing what was about to take place just as much as the constant stream of dragons dropping down into the vast bowl from above the starstones. Everyone with a dragon and no candidate was ferrying guests in. Something P'ren knew his weyrleaders had inaugurated. Not that anyone would come to watch Soryn impress. When he had told one of the holders he would be taking the lad along, they had shrugged at him, as if relieved to be rid of him. Hidebound dimglows!

P'ren dropped into his riding leathers and rummaged for the white tunic which all the candidates wore, then shook the lad's thin shoulders until the bright blue eyes grew alert to what was happening. He thrust the garment at him.

"Here, get into that. The hatching has begun, we need to get there. Now!"

His piercing tone seemed to make it to Soryn. He pulled the tunic awkwardly over his ribcage and got out of the bed, looking just so much like a scarecrow. Even in spite of the need for haste P'ren couldn't keep himself from smiling in fond amusement. By the egg, at least the dragonets didn't judge on looks.

Tagranth was already hovering close to the outer ledge and dropped into the early morning dusk with a gutwrenching leap off the ledge, narrowly avoiding two of the older browns carrying lord holders. P'ren sent a wordless reprimand to his bronze who dipped the wedge head, eyes whirling in apologetic purple hues. Down, at ground level, the hatching vault was resplendently lit, most of Pern's nobility mincing across the hot sands.

He held out a forearm for Soryn and had to give it to the boy, he had pluck. With nothing more than a brief glance backwards he joined the other candidates already fanning out among the eggs. P'ren jumped down himself and joined the audience on the other side of the sands, while Tagranth swept up to the heights, humming, to sit with the rest of the dragons. Only Ramoth and Mnementh were allowed near the eggs.

It was a pity he had found Soryn so late, the other boys had had more than a sevenday to accustom themselves to the motley eggs. There were at least a dozen bronzes, just as many browns, F'nor had said. And another queen egg. It was already surrounded by the female candidates, all of them holder girls this time.

The hum grew louder if that was possible at all, and Ramoth was pacing the length of the grounds, in distress as she seemed to always be when Impressions were about to take place. Indeed, the first eggs had started to wobble violently, cracks appearing in the strong shells and then the first dragonet burst forth, unhindered he shot forwards and straight into the arms of a waiting lad who embraced the glistening bronze hatchling with a huge grin. A good omen.

"He is Saranth!"

The triumphant cry knotted P'ren's throat. He had trouble swallowing and felt his eyes brimming.

 _I'm here. We met, and impressed. We're together. Forever._

He gulped.

And then eggs seemed to hatch all over, a flurry of shards and awkward dragonets, and candidates crying out in joy or in despair. He searched for Soryn, and found him hovering at the edge, watching with a rather forlorn expression. Then the bronzes started to hum, and P'ren could feel Tagranth crooning along with them, undaunted by Soryn's failure, for now the last egg on the grounds was the golden one and it was softly rocking from side to side.

A small shard broke away, a tiny gleaming claw emerged and they all heard the displeased hiss of the little queen as she worked herself out of the golden shell. Another shard fell and then the head emerged, eyes revolving in the baleful reds of ravenous hunger. With a heave the little queen split the shell in halves, stumbled forward and screamed her need.

Two of the girls advanced on her, arms outstretched, crooning at her, but she discarded them, lurched towards the entrance and away from the female candidates, passing yet another holder girl with utter disdain. P'ren could see Lessa and F'lar and the Masterharper in heated debate at Ramoth's side, while the weyrlingmaster shooed the girls forward, asking them to follow the small female.

Her shrill cries were upsetting everyone by then. She launched herself once more away from her candidates, reeled in a halfcircle and then appeared to have found her goal. P'ren was sure, right then and there, that he was the only one in the whole wide hall who understood where she was headed, because he was the only one who saw the thin lad for what he was.

The golden hatchling gathered momentum and made a straight line for Soryn, until she butted him into the legs, falling into a heap at his feet. He knelt down to righten her wings, long slender hands caressing the shimmering skin. P'ren's heart missed a beat as Tagranth bugled a roaring welcome to his mate, the other bronzes joining in agreement.

Then S'ryn helped her up, a wide smile on his face, blue eyes brilliant.

"She says her name is Keith!"

 

The End

**Author's Note:**

> Although I haven't read all of the Pern books (only the original trilogy, Dragondrums, Nerilka's Story and Dragonsdawn) I've always been intrigued by Pern. A medieval society with dragons a reality and so much depending on the behaviour of a small number of people within each caste.
> 
> There were very few alternatives for anyone not submitting to the pressure of that rigid society except exchanging one kind of dependency for a different one. The dragons might be soulmates, but in their essence they also forced their mental partners into a lifestyle which was unavoidable even if heroic. More important, the Weyrs were not entirely benign havens either, with riders succumbing to the power the dragons gave them over the rest of the population and some of their habits and mores less than acceptable by modern standards. As a whole Pern's society suffered from an inflexible caste system and inbuilt inequality on almost every level, be it gender, birth, occupation, training or abilities. Having this as an entire package in one world always fascinated me.
> 
> A few years ago I talked about these books with a friend, who commented on the many levels of inequality of this society. As a homosexual man he had noticed that while there was a dragon-enforced acceptance among the lesser colour riders the positions of Weyrleaders were strictly reserved for heterosexual pairs without any logical reason. His wistful grin and wish for a story with a male homosexual couple for once being Weyrleaders or at least riders of bronze and queen and not at all effeminate is the background idea of this story. I have to say that I very rarely write fanfiction within book fandoms, especially not active book fandoms (this is my first and only dragonrider story). While I could see his point I wasn't going to do anything about it, even though I agreed. When I saw the fandom being part of Yuletide 2011 I resolved to write it as a treat.
> 
> The story takes place after Dragonquest and before The White Dragon.
> 
> With that timeframe also came the need to adjust the background to what it would have been in a medieval society where homosexuals of either gender used to be killed or left to die after severe torture. The way lord holders and craftsmen were described there was no doubt that homophobia is part of the Pernese society, at least at the time I chose for this story. Heavy bullying especially from Soryn's peers seemed to be a given. Bisexual P'ren I wrote as being someone who has been chastised into socially acceptable behaviour by well-meaning Manora and F'nor. He is suppressing his sexuality to deal with what is expected from him as a bronze rider. Both F'nor and his mother strike me as being open-minded people and it is in the canon that F'nor contemplated flying a queen with a brown. Still they would engage in peer pressure. Mirrim is part of this story because at that point in time she would have progressed past just tagging along with Brekke and be trusted to deal with healing emergencies on her own by Brekke and Manora. I'd say she would be seen as having the relevant experience even though still a bit young. I kept her as close as I could to how Anne McCaffrey wrote her in Dragonquest, but I think she would have achieved enough detachment from her origins to side with the dragonriders now.
> 
> Tagranth is crucial within this story as the catalytic factor. For me the whole story is hinged more on dragon telepathy and bonding than on human sexuality. Tagranth chose a bisexual boy over heterosexual ones when he impressed. He would be aware of his rider's needs and he also would be the most likely dragon to find a candidate for a queen preferring a male. Mutation, imprinting and co-evolution occur even within genetically altered species. Firelizards make no difference between male and female owners and were the base of dragons, so I didn't think the chances were too low for a queen wanting a male rider or a bronze liking a bisexual over a heterosexual one. With telepathy in the play I'd think the outcome described here is a possibility. That's the main "what if" in this AU.
> 
> A heartfelt thank you to both my betas, you know who you are: I had the story beta'ed for grammar and typos and because I wanted to be absolutely sure that I did not depict any of the men as being effeminate or acting in a way they never would have behaved I had a friend go over that too.


End file.
